Tunnel Vision
by Rothalion
Summary: Rios tries to come to terms with Salem's new found freedom. A sort of post/after tale for "Meet My Old Bear". Warning: M/M interaction moderately graphic.


_**Tunnel Vision**_

It's what started it that worried him. Rios sighed, and tweaked the dial on the high end spotter scope ever so slightly bringing his target into a fine, nearly intimate focus. The salt air wafting upward toward him, somewhat warmer than that at the height of his hide, created an annoying fog on the carefully crafted lenses. He cursed, willing away the thought that Elliot would know just what to do to clear them.

Elliot, Elliot was a thorn in his proverbial hide. Elliot was why he was hunkered down for the eighth night in several weeks in a carefully crafted hide on the beach just tens of meters from the home that the smaller man and his lover, partner, he couldn't bear to call him that exactly so, lover actually worked best, Vasily Tyannikov, had built. Elliot, what a fucked up situation it all was. For half of his life, for the past, no, over half of his life, and even more of the younger man's, war and the need to fight it had entwined them in a sort of love hate partnership.

That though, was not what had brung him here. What had instigated, and driven this mission on his home soil was his wife, Samantha. His wife was an adulterous bitch by all reckoning, yet one he loved. His wife had begun this, her, the mother of his daughter, and arch enemy of Elliot, who beyond argument was the other half of his heart. Samantha had driven him to execute this craven mission of deceit. His wife, who'd gaily, fucked a well hung Spaniard while their daughter nearly drowned so many long years ago in Spain, only to be saved by Elliot, a man that despite his rescue of their child, she still, nearly ten years later, hated.

He squinted through the scope, and recalled the night that he'd devised the op. He liked to call it that, it gave him some sense of distance, some sense of cleanliness dulling the guilt plaguing him for the indiscretion, that he knew in his heart, he was perpetrating. He let the memory skip across his mind in lurid detail.

It was the night of Salem's 'all the birthdays at once' party. It was the night that he'd outed, Rios hated that word; that Elliot had _introduced_ Vasily Tyannikov as his 'partner'. Tyson had been shocked. Not shocked by the introduction so much, but shocked that Elliot hadn't let him know first. Then again, Elliot had probably feared a sound beating had he come to Rios first. Theirs was, at best, an intricate often volatile relationship.

Afterwards, he and Samantha had made love. They'd made _good _love actually, for the first time in a long time, and as Tyson recalled it even weeks later, he fought down the stirring flushing his crotch. Discipline, he needed discipline to carry out this op, and in an instant the flash of emotion was quashed. Ironically, that ability to control himself actually disturbed him a bit. When they'd finished, Samantha had rolled over onto her elbows, leaning above him, and kissed him on his forehead. The move surprised him, pleased him even, she was seldom kind in that sort of manner.

"If I ask you something, will you swear to tell me the truth, Tye?" She'd asked.

"Depends, you know I have…"

"No," she'd shushed him, "It's about us, not work."

"Ask."

"Salem, did you know?"

"No."

"How come?"

"Sam, where's this going?"

"Tye, have you and him, have you…you know of my, my failures, but have you and Elliot…have you two ever…"

"Don't"

Tyson's gut hitched. It was as good as an admission of guilt, and he regretted the reply immediately.

She never called him, Salem, Elliot. He wasn't the consummate liar that Salem was, not even close. Her breath was sweet, he smelled their sex in it, and he'd relished the rare closeness they'd just shared. He didn't want to ruin it. He loved her. The entire night had been odd. He'd had no real chance to talk with Salem about Tyannikov after the party. It had been a flurry of introductions, and hugs, and he'd held back, unsure of his feelings, unwilling to hurt Elliot by possibly betraying his hurt and confusion. Did Salem's 'outing' surprise him? No, not in a strange sort of hind sighted way. Un-like the others, he had Oia to reflect back upon, and that was what Sam was scratching the surface for. So, why did he feel as though he was the last to know about Vasily?

Oia, for him, was a nearly divine experience. On the one hand, he regretted it. It scared him to recall it. He'd set Elliot adrift. He'd closed a door between them. He'd given the younger man approval to…to what? He never thought that Salem would actually act upon it. He never thought that Salem would risk his ire to consummate any relationship that he didn't approve of. He never considered…Tyannikov. The Russian had always been a shadow in their lives, and the depth of Salem's subterfuge stung.

"Tye?"

She might be an adulterous bitch, but she knew him inside and out. Only Elliot knew him better. He tried to be gruff in hopes of turning her from her line of query.

"What? We've done a shit load a shit together. What?"

"Have you, have you two fucked?"

Now that was not what he'd expected. No, it was, actually, what some deep part of his gut had expected.

"Sam…"

"No judgment, Tye. I just, I saw you tonight. I saw they play of emotions on your face. I saw how you treated him. I saw the hurt in your eyes, Tye. I know you, and I know I have never been the faithful wife, but I need to know. I saw in your eyes that you think that tonight you lost him. Tyson, look at me."

He couldn't look at her. He was lost, adrift in a cascade of tumultuous emotions. He felt like a fly caught on a glue trap. He'd seen them, the unfortunate flies, so sorrowful, so pitiful just plastered to such a simplistic weapon, and writhing in their unheralded deaths. He had nightmares about dying like that. He had nightmares about Salem, no Elliot, dying like that. Nightmares where he tugged, and pulled, and tried in vain to free the smaller man from the strip of death, and now Samantha had drawn him to their death. 'Have you two fucked?' So be it. He'd faced, and beaten death more times than he could count. This though, this time Salem wouldn't be there to kick start his heart.

"I've never fucked him, Samantha. I've made love to him."

He'd expected her to recoil in anger, or disgust, but instead she'd stayed still, leaning on his broad chest staring into his dark eyes. He read in her eyes the need to know more, but that was a secret between Elliot and him. That was something…Oia was something sacred.

"Him or you?"

Looking into her dark eyes, he pondered her query fully aware of what she meant. Who'd initiated it? It was another good question. Him, or you? They'd shared so much together, him and Elliot, and it was, in his heart, after the fact, a simple extension of who they were. What surprised him was that it had taken so long happen.

"Him."

"He hates me."

"No, Sam, he doesn't. He loves me. He loves me, and all that _I_ love. He's Elliot, Sam."

She'd sighed, and slumped down onto his chest. He felt her heart beating against his chest, and flashed back to how many nights, how many times he'd dozed in a hide with Salem in a similar position, with Salem hurt or exhausted, or just Salem hunkered down in his apartment spinning out of control after a flash back, and on all of those occasions Tyson recalled, with striking clarity, the steady, yet frenetic thump of the younger man's pulse. He wished he could share that with Sam, share the fear he'd felt wondering if Salem would come back from the hell he was re-living, come back to cover his six, and bring him home to her and Nala safely.

That had been three weeks ago. That had been what had spurred this _op_. So, here he was at 1100 hours on a dreary, damp Wednesday, thirty-five meters from Salem and Tyannikov's back yard. He was ensconced in the sea oats cloaking the dune line, peering through the new spotter's scope that ironically Elliot had convinced SSC to purchase. It gave him a nearly face to face view of the Mahogany French doors of Vasily, and Elliot's bedroom. He'd lied to Sam about where he was going. Running, running had become his excuse, and she hadn't questioned it. Running, he was running alright , but from what. He took a sip of the Lime Gatorade he'd toted along, and then refocused his attention through the scope. He nearly spat out the mouthful of fluid, finally his surveillance was paying off.

From his location, Rios had a clear view of the doors to Salem's and Tyannikov's bedroom. The location of the home was on a nearly private beach. The design of the home, an oddly angular U shape affording a beautiful ocean panorama, left the wall of master bedroom, French doors open for view if you had the skills that Rio had.

The pair entered the room, and Rios' gut hitched. Elliot was smiling. No, Elliot was laughing. Elliot didn't really laugh. Rios, having long been accustomed to the younger man's moods, readily saw through the stilted laughter he offered in the company of most of their friends, and strangers. This though…the smile seemed so genuine, so real, so…Then, to his delight or dismay, Vasily opened the double sets of double doors. They were apparently very comfortable with their _privacy_. All that cloaked the pair now was the gossamer like curtains still pulled shut.

He watched. He watched, enrapt, as Vasily kissed Elliot deeply. He watched as the big Russian deftly, gently, reverently undressed Elliot. He watched the pair settle down onto the bed; a king, Rios recalled, because he'd snuck a peak into the master suite during the party that Salem and Vasily had held, the weekend after the 'All in May' party.

Salem's attraction to Tyannikov both frightened, and repulsed Rios. This was a man that had battered Elliot unconscious, had broken his arm, and held a gun to his head. Considering Elliot's past, Rios feared that the younger man had simply caved to the big Russian out of fear. Fear?

What was Salem even afraid of? Rios smiled despite himself. Nothing, nothing short of losing him. Nothing short of disappointing someone he called friend. So what did that say about this coupling? And from Tyson's vantage point, it would soon become a coupling.

He watched…

Vasily, after taking off Elliot's shirt, set about suckling his nipples. Salem lay still, eyes shut, enjoying, the word annoyed Rios, enjoying…then, the big Russian stepped back, and slowly stripped away his own clothing. He was a well-built man, Rios thought. As he dropped his shirt to the floor, and stepped free of his jeans Tyson felt a twinge of jealousy. What did Tyannikov have…Elliot reached out to the big man. He reached out, and that hit him like a bullet from the man's Barrett. How many times had Elliot reached out to him, aside from Oia. Hind sight slammed memory after memory through his mind. That dog don't hunt.

Before he could fully appreciate his loss Vasily was on the bed. Vasily was kissing Salem, no Elliot, his Elliot, and his Elliot wasn't afraid. Rios reeled at the realization. Despite Somalia, despite the pain that Vasily had inflicted upon him Elliot wasn't afraid of Vasily Tyannikov.

He flashed back to Oia. Elliot had given himself up to him. He'd given himself up, but the secret guilt that Rios held in his heart was that Elliot had been afraid. He'd been afraid, and Rios had taken him anyway. Elliot had been afraid, and Rios had ignored that fear. He'd ignored it, and taken what he'd wanted. He liked, some times in the middle of the night when the dream, the nightmare of that night of his betrayal, plagued him, to blame his aggression on drunken lust. But it wasn't. The nightmare was guilt, and shame for the feelings he'd harbored for so many years. He'd taken Elliot out of a sort of rite, to prove he was in charge. He'd used Elliot's honesty, his love, and his devotion, and he'd fucked him. And watching him with Tyannikov he now knew that Elliot knew the truth. He'd been afraid to show his true feelings, so instead he'd run roughshod over Salem yet again. As he opened his eyes and the memory slipped away the scene before him came alive.

Vasily slipped down, and swallowed Elliot's cock to his balls. The smaller man clutched his fingers in the Russian's dark, thick hair, arching his narrow refined hips, slowly up and down to accommodate Tyannikov's ministrations. Rios could see Salem's face clearly through the scope. The weightless curtains wafted in and out of the room on the sea breeze. He smelled his own sweat, he smelled the rotting seaweed that had washed up with the storm two nights prior. More poignantly, he smelled Elliot. He smelled Elliot sprawled out on the rough bed in Oia, cloaked in sweat, and the results of their ardor. He smelled his own betrayal. He smelled a loss that he really couldn't quite pin down, and Rios had lost before. Loss hurt. Loss…

As he watched, Tyannikov rose up, and slid serpent like up Salem's, no Elliot's, Rios thought. Salem was for battle, Elliot was for… Elliot's prone body, and they kissed again. It was a long, slow unbelievably intimate exchange, Tyannikov's head bobbing up and down as he sucked on Elliot's tongue, while he ground their cocks together. Rios had to wonder how Elliot had not come yet. Tyannikov's fingers plied Salem's hair with the same deftness that his tongue plied the smaller man's mouth. Elliot was flushed. Tyannikov was flushed. Rios was…

Then, as if some agreement had passed between them, and after several long minutes of solely tender kissing, and breeze-like touching the game changed a bit.

Salem sat up. He was pinned beneath Tyannikov. But, he sat up, and after a brief bit of adjustment the pair were face to face with Salem on his knees, and Tyannikov directly in front of him. Rios frowned at the change. This is, he figured, when the Russian took charge, and _took _Salem. He clenched his jaw. If, in his scope, he saw Tyannikov hurt Elliot…But there was no hurt, only a delicate play of tenderness between two men. Part of him was angry, his vengeance having been denied, and part of him jealous.

Again, they kissed. Rios forced away the flush of emotion that shot through him. Oia had been a fluke. Oia had been an experiment to see if they were meant to be more than just a couple of PMC's watching one another's sixes. He'd cast Elliot away. That dog don't hunt. Oia…he flashed back to Samantha's questions…Love, did he love Elliot? Did he love Sam? What the fuck, he thought, was love?

The pair broke away from one another, and once again Elliot slumped back into the soft bed. Tyson watched, enrapt, as Tyannikov, for lack of any better description meticulously, delicately, and lovingly pleasured Salem. He couldn't think of Salem as Elliot. This was a Salem he'd never seen before. His face betrayed only joy and contentment. Joy, Tyson thought. When had he ever seen Salem 's face exhibit joy? Humor, yes, hate, yes, anger, but joy, contentment…never. Not even on that odd strange night in Oia. That night he'd smiled his crooked smile of acceptance, but Rios knew in his heart that that smile, held no joy, only acceptance. Acceptance, that him and Tyson would never again share what had transpired between them. Salem had given him everything. Offered it freely, and Rios had taken it, repaying Salem's gift with a cold, harsh refusal of a future. That dog don't hunt.

Vasily kissed, and teased him, and then, finally, finally, after Salem had clutched his fingers into the big Russian's hips, Tyannikov, with a gentleness matched only by the light wafting of the sea breeze through the curtains, slipped his cock slowly, purposefully into Salem's ass.

Tyson groaned despite himself. For a long moment the Russian remained still, staring into Salem's eyes. Then, after a long sensual kiss he dragged his fine, muscled hips backwards, and then pressed slowly forward. Every thrust was meaningful, every kiss that the man placed upon Elliot's face and neck, and chest was meaningful. It wasn't Oia, Rios thought, and it hit him hard that in Oia Elliot had been desperate to keep him, to please him. Here though, it was Tyannikov doing the pleasing, and Elliot…

Elliot came, and Tyson crumbled.

The pair wandered out of view into what Rios knew was the shower. Then, shortly later they returned, towels round their waists, damp and wet, and Tyson flashed back to all the nights, in all of the countries and hell holes that him and Elliot had been in, showered in, bled in, held one another in…

As he watched, Elliot crawled into bed. Tyannikov had closed the doors, but the curtains offered no real privacy. Then the Russian slipped into bed, and rolled onto his left side. He tugged Elliot a bit until the smaller man's head was on his chest. He kissed the top of Salem's head. He kissed his eyes, he kissed his cheeks, and finally the pair exchanged a long kiss their tongues, Rios knew, twining, trying to eke out as much feeling as possible from the encounter.

Rios wanted to cry. It was something that Salem had said when drunk. He'd said that what he'd wished for as a child, he'd seen it on TV. He wanted just to be loved, like the Beaver, or Opie, or any of the TV kids, like he'd…he watched.

Elliot lifted his head, and looked down into Tyannikov's dark eyes. Rios watched, as the man he loved smiled. Elliot rarely smiled, and if you knew him well, you knew that, for the most part, his smiles were a façade. This smile though, Tyson knew was genuine. He, of all people, had been gifted with Elliot's true smile, and this…

He watched as Elliot, the man he loved like a brother, closed his eyes, let go, and gave himself _fully_ to another. Tyson watched Elliot kissing Tyannikov, a man that he hated more than any other man on the planet, and he realized, he realized in a flash of unbidden emotion that threatened to reveal his position, the difference between loving someone, and cherishing them. Tyannikov _cherished_ Elliot. He, simply loved him.


End file.
